


Fragility of Family

by lusteralliance (orphan_account)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Family, Found Family, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marriage Proposal, Mother-Son Relationship, a lot of my longer works dont get many kudos :pensive:, cyril is just baby, heres to hoping this will break the cycle, just a tiny bit and its more in a funny way i prOMISE, rhea die challenge, shamir is that swordsman holding the cat under his arm and cyril is the cat shbshdhweh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 15:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lusteralliance
Summary: To Shamir, family is a fixed concept. It has always been that way, until Rhea appears at her doorstep in the middle of the night with a bleeding, angry child and simple instructions.[chapters are numerous but really really short!]





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> importante!
> 
> \- this occurs long before byleth would ever be recruited as a professor @ garreg mach, but after jeralt yote outta there
> 
> \- shamir and catherine have been pining over each other for a Long time bhhdshs
> 
> \- cyril is baby. send tweet
> 
> \- rhea is pretty ooc!

Shamir recognized the knock on her door.

It was quick, soft, expectant; that of one who was worshipped, treated only with the utmost respect.

But why at such an ungodly hour? The moon was still high in the night sky outside her window, and the crickets chirped in the cattails and the owls flitted soundlessly through the trees.

Shamir crawled out of bed, and the cool wood panel floor sent chills up her bare feet as she tiptoed through the dark house. Those who kept Rhea waiting were those who died first.

Shamir opened the door when she reached it, and she bowed her head as she was supposed to. But, to her surprise, she did not see just Rhea; by her side was a young boy in tattered clothing, a sheet of blood covering the right side of his face. His dark hair was disheveled, and his catlike, blood orange eyes were narrowed, as if he was angry.

"Shamir," Rhea greeted her simply, in her honeysuckle-sweet voice. Her pale green eyes glowed with a painted pacifism, a kindness that only showed on the surface and shielded a darker truth beneath.

"Hello, Rhea. Who is this?"

"Tell Shamir your name, child," Rhea ordered, gently. The boy squirmed, trying to free his hand from Rhea's grip.

"Mm...Cyril," he replied softly.

"Will you look after him? He is Almyran, and his parents died on the battlefield." Cyril's angry cat eyes narrowed further, and he puffed out his cheeks as if he were going to throw a tantrum. As if he were mad, instead of devastated.

Shamir did not know what to think of this. A child? She was barely a grown woman herself, and she certainly did not _want_ a child.

"Why me?" she asked, and Rhea tipped her head with another terribly kind smile.

"The way I see it," the archbishop began, "the two of you are similar in ways you are yet to understand. Two outsiders displaced by war, no family, no company—" Shamir flinched angrily "—I believe you may learn and gain much from each other."

"And we were both saved by you? We both owe our lives to you, are indebted to you until we die?" Shamir demanded, curling her hands into fists at her sides. She was still in her sleeping clothes, her feet bare on the threshold of her home.

Rhea smiled again.

"That is correct."


	2. II

"Hold still."

Cyril wriggled in the bloody water, smacking Shamir's hand when she tried to scrub away the grime in his hair. Shamir huffed impatiently, grabbing Cyril's wrist and holding up his arm as she rubbed the dirt off his side.

The Almyran boy yelped and tried to pull away, but Shamir held onto him and ignored his protests. If she was to treat his wounds, then he had to be clean; to Shamir, it seemed Cyril had his heart set on being filthy forever.

Rhea had left an hour ago with simple instructions: tend to Cyril's wounds and take him to the monastery in two days. There, he would become Rhea's personal servant, and be taught the ways of the church.

"Let go!" Cyril squealed, and he splashed dirty water all over Shamir's shirt. She gasped and splashed water at him in retaliation. Cyril splashed back, and she splashed back at him, and soon, he was laughing, his eyes bright and lively.

"This isn't funny, Cyril!" Shamir shouted. "I'm trying to help you!" She couldn't help smiling just a little at the boy's giggles as he let her bathe him. He had just lost his family, the only one he had ever known, but he still had it in his heart to laugh.

A disturbing thought crossed Shamir's mind. Was she supposed to be their replacement? Surely she was just a caretaker. Chances were, Rhea would take him in as more than a servant, once they got to know each other. She sighed and dunked Cyril's head underwater to wash his hair.

When he was all cleaned, Shamir bundled him up in a warm towel and set him down on the bed of spare blankets and pillows she made for him at the foot of her own bed. She brought out her box of medicines, salves, and bandages, wondering why Rhea couldn't have just taken Cyril to a healer beforehand, and started to treat his wounds.

There was a large gash over his right eye that was sure to leave a scar. Shamir wrapped his head in bandages, then fixed up his arms and legs and the cut he'd gotten on his collarbone.

"Are you tired?" She asked Cyril, when she'd finished. Cyril shook his head, his blood orange eyes alert. He didn't seem wary of her, or at least as wary as he should have been. "Are you hungry?" He nodded. "Do you like stew?" He nodded again.

Shamir got to her feet and prepared a small bowl of leftover stew from last night's dinner in the kitchen, then brought it over to Cyril. She crossed her legs and watched him inspect it, then drink it slowly.

"How old are you?"

"Eight," Cyril replied, lowering his bowl and licking his lips. Nearly half the stew was already gone; he must've been starving.

"Eight? Wow," Shamir murmured. He was too young to have lost everything. "Did you have any brothers or sisters?"

Cyril shook his head as he finished his meal. Shamir took the bowl, telling him, "Okay, get some sleep. You have to go to the monastery in two days, so you need to be in good shape."

"Okay." Cyril tucked himself into his bedding and was asleep in seconds.

Shamir felt a strange weight in her heart as she washed the bowl and dried it with a towel. She dearly hoped it wasn't attachment.


	3. III

The arrow hit the bullseye with a _shunk_, and Shamir sighed and nodded her head. Six in a row.

"What's that?" came a small voice from behind her. Shamir jumped and drew her bow, nocking an arrow and aiming it straight at Cyril's forehead. His cat eyes were wide with admiration as he stared at Shamir's target hanging from the tree.

"Oh! Don't do that, Cyril," Shamir snapped, lowering her weapon. "I could've shot you dead in a heartbeat. What are you doing here?"

Cyril pointed at Shamir's bow. "Can I play?"

"Wh—no, this—this isn't a toy, Cyril. It's a bow. A weapon."

Cyril frowned, looking sad, and for some reason, it made Shamir feel guilty. She sighed and scratched her head.

"Maybe I can teach you someday at the monastery, when you aren't with Rhea," she suggested, and Cyril nodded happily.

"Okay." Shamir watched him turn away to the fields, admiring the wildflowers. They were probably different from those that grew in Almyra.

Poor boy. He was but a child, taken so far from home and separated from his family so early. Shamir was already living on her own when Rhea had saved her life on the outskirts of Fodlan where she wandered, though it was only because her parents and her first partner had died many years ago.

Family was a fragile thing, she realized as she adjusted her gentle grip on her arrow. It was a thing that most definitely couldn't be replaced, if she'd learned anything throughout her life of solitude.

Perhaps Cyril _would_ do her some good. Companionship was welcome, most of the time. And seeing his little smiling face made Shamir feel something she didn't exactly understand.

When Cyril tripped on a rock and started crying, and Shamir threw down her bow and quiver and hurried over to help him, she understood with a bitter resignation that it was most definitely attachment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shortest one so far u-u


	4. IV

"Who's this?"

Cyril's grip on Shamir's hand tightened when Catherine bent down and mussed his hair.

"Cyril," Shamir replied. Catherine beamed affectionately at him, and he shuffled a little closer to Shamir.

"He's cute. Is he, like, your nephew or something?" Catherine asked, resting her hand on the pommel of Thunderbrand as she straightened back up. Her messy dirty blonde hair shone gold in the rising sun's light, making a faint halo around her head where they stood outside the Knights' quarters.

"No, it's...it's a long story," Shamir answered uneasily. Cyril put his knuckle in his mouth as he looked around. "I might tell you sometime. See you later."

"Sure thing, partner." They said goodbye, and Shamir lead Cyril away to Rhea's chambers. The looks the little boy got from students in the monastery irked Shamir, and she glared daggers back at the perpetrators when they passed.

Rhea was admiring the stained glass of the high church windows, her ornate golden crown glinting in the sunlight. She turned and smiled when she saw Shamir and Cyril approaching.

"Ah. Hello, Cyril, Shamir."

"Hullo," Cyril answered from beside Shamir's hip. Shamir just nodded her head.

Rhea held out a hand. "Come now, boy. There is much work to be done. Shamir, he will be ready at sundown."

Shamir blinked. "What? I'm still taking care of him?" It came out a bit crueler than she meant, and she gave a hushed apology to Cyril when he looked sadly up at her.

"Yes. Come along, Cyril." Shamir hesitated before easing Cyril out from behind her, then nudged him forward. He waved goodbye to her before shuffling away to where Rhea stood by the entrance of her personal quarters. Shamir held Rhea's gaze for as long as she could, then turned and left for the training grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enter: the other mother


	5. V

"And then _I_ said, 'Maybe you should pull your pants back up!'"

Shamir gave a well-mannered chuckle in reaction to the resolution of Catherine's latest long-winded story. They sat lounging on one of the benches in the garden, the ivy-ridden pergola overhead throwing checkered shadows along their faces.

The fragrance of rose and chamomile tea wafted about in the spring evening air, calming Shamir's nerves. Cyril was running very, very late, and Catherine had made some tea for them to help her relax.

"Where _is_ he?" Shamir murmured, tapping her finger against the side of her teacup. Catherine sighed and placed a reassuring hand on Shamir's shoulder.

"He's probably just doing some more work for Lady Rhea. Don't worry, okay, partner? He's been at it for a week now. You're starting to freak me out, too, worrying so much." Shamir nodded a little, taking a small sip of her tea. "Besides...it's unlike you to care so much about anyone!"

Shamir shrugged. "I don't know...I feel like he's just too little for all of this." Catherine blew at the surface of her hot drink, observing the moonlight dancing on the leaves of the garden.

"Would it hurt to care about me like that, too?" Shamir smiled at Catherine's words and flashed her partner a sideways glare.

"...Sha...Shamir...?"

The two women looked up at the soft voice, and Shamir straightened and lowered her cup when she met Cyril's frightened gaze. The Almyran boy was hiding behind a marble column, his cat eyes wide.

"Cyril...are you okay?" Shamir asked, beckoning him over, and Cyril shuffled over across the stone tile and sat between her and Catherine when the swordswoman shifted to make room.

Shamir exchanged a worried glance with Catherine when Cyril pressed against his caretaker's side. What could be troubling him?

"Um...." Cyril began, then did not continue. Catherine ruffled his hair, which he was used to now.

"What's up, kiddo?" Catherine pried. Cyril looked up at them, then back down again.

"Um...um..." He gnawed on his knuckle for a moment, then went on. "...Miss Rhea said that the goddess watches over us and protects us...." Catherine nodded in understanding, and Shamir bit her lip.

"If that's true, then...then why did she—why did she let my parents die...?" His blood orange eyes were welling up with tears, and Catherine's own blue eyes widened. She would have no answer.

Shamir wrapped her arms around Cyril and whispered soft comfort as he dissolved into tears against her chest. It seemed the goddess liked to pick and choose those she spared, and they were almost always of Fodlan blood.


	6. VI

Thunder cracked in the night, and Shamir squeezed her eyes shut when the darkness was permeated by a brief flash of blue lightning. She was not good with storms. They reminded her of things she worked daily to forget, on the scorched and bloodied plains of Dagda many years ago.

She turned in her bed, hugging her blankets closer to herself, and tried to go back to sleep. Before she could, however, a rush of warmth met the small of her back. Shamir gasped when she felt Cyril's arms wrap around her middle.

"Cyril?" she whispered, and the little boy's grasp tightened.

"Shamir...can—can I sleep here...?" he whimpered into her back. He was probably afraid of thunder, too. Shamir turned in bed and hugged the boy close to her.

"Of course...I'm afraid of storms." Cyril nestled his head against Shamir's collarbone.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay...I'll protect you," Cyril declared, and Shamir smiled and relaxed under the covers, the brave little boy clinging to her shirt with an air of determination.

"Thanks, Cyril."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied this is the shortest


	7. VII

"...Shamir, get up! Shamir...!"

Shamir flinched when Catherine threw her blankets off the bed, and she scrambled into a seated position, looking around dazedly.

"Wh—what—Catherine! What are you doing in my _house?_"

"Cyril left the door open when he snuck out." Catherine's blue gaze was panicked, and Shamir scrambled out of bed and spotted Cyril's empty bedding on the ground.

"What? Where did he go?"

"There was a skirmish on the border of Almyra, and he hid himself in a supply cart to go and fight."

"Cyril!" Shamir wailed, tearing at her dark hair. "Is he...is he still there?"

Catherine shook her head. She was dressed in her usual maroon and light-colored armor, as if she had just walked off the battlefield.

"He's in the medical wing at the monastery...he got wounded, badly."

Shamir's eyes widened with horror, and shocked tears dribbled down her cheeks. She had always forbade Cyril from fighting, and now he went out and got himself hurt. Catherine gasped and gently dried her eyes, and Shamir buried her face against her partner's neck as she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops another short one


	8. VIII

Cyril's chest was covered in bandages, the rest of him cloaked by a blanket. His eyes were closed as if he were peacefully asleep, the boy's head resting on a soft pillow. Shamir's heart twisted with a painful mix of pride and guilt when her eyes came to rest upon the bloody quiver and bow on the bedside table.

"Tell me what happened," she murmured, and the healer scratched his head, lowering his staff in the dim light of the medical wing.

"I wish I could, but I just don't know. The soldiers who found him said he was just...on the ground, bleeding from a massive wound in his chest." Shamir wanted to scold Cyril for his foolishness. What in the world was he thinking, going out on his own like that? He was lucky he hadn't been killed.

"Thank you, you may leave." The healer dipped his head and disappeared from the room; when he did, Catherine came inside.

Shamir looked up and met her eyes, then cursed and stared back at her feet.

"You didn't have to come, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm here now." Catherine stopped by Shamir and stood close to her. "I care about him too, you know."

"Why?"

"Well, he's a kid, for one," Catherine started, and Shamir smiled a little besides herself. "And second, his happiness makes you happy. And whatever makes you happy deserves special attention from me."

Shamir chanced a look up at Catherine, and found that the swordswoman was already looking at her. Her sky blue eyes were filled with worry, and with patience, and her soft smile made Shamir want to punch her. But in a good way.

"He likes you a lot too, you know," she told Catherine, whose smile brightened at Shamir's words.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he talks to you all the time. He wants to be as strong as you when he grows up." Shamir couldn't suppress the bloom of affection in her chest as Catherine clasped her hands under her chin excitedly.

"Be thankful it's you who's taking care of him, or else I'd have stolen him away long ago," Catherine told Shamir, who laughed a little and turned her gaze back to the sleeping Cyril. He was a lucky boy. Foolish, but lucky.

"Maybe we can take care of him together," Shamir suggested shyly.

Catherine's arms dropped in the corner of Shamir's eye. "You mean...you mean like parents?" Shamir's face grew warm.

"...Yeah. Like parents."

Catherine gasped and grabbed Shamir's hand, falling to one knee. "Let's get married!" she cried.

"No!" yelled Shamir, but deep down, she wouldn't have minded much.


	9. IX

"I promise this isn't a trap, I just want to know. What in the _world_ were you thinking?"

Cyril squirmed in his blankets, picking at the bandages around his chest as Shamir folded her arms at his bedside.

"Um...I just wanted to fight...like you, Shamir!" Shamir narrowed her eyes, to Cyril's horror.

"I was going to let you fight when you were ready, but you weren't. Not yet," she explained firmly. "You could've gotten yourself killed out there. The battlefield is no playplace. I thought you of all kids would understand that."

Cyril's blood orange eyes grew sad, and he twiddled his thumbs over his blanket.

"Sorry...."

"You should be. You worried me sick." Shamir stroked Cyril's dusky hair comfortingly, then got up to let him rest.

"Wait, um...I lied...."

Shamir sat back down. "About what?"

"Um...um..." Cyril bit his knuckle. "...I also wanted to...I also wanted to see Almyra again."

Shamir's eyes softened immediately, and she took Cyril's outstretched hand.

"What did you see?"

Cyril looked around anxiously in the small room, then narrowed his eyes and stared at his toes under the covers.

"Just like Miss Rhea told me...they're—they're savage, heartless beasts. Ruth...ruthless." Shamir squeezed the boy's hand. He was too young to know any of those words. Rhea was feeding him lies, teaching him to hate his homeland.

"Did they kill soldiers from the monastery?" Shamir asked, and Cyril nodded angrily. "Did the soldiers kill the Almyrans, too?" Cyril nodded again, and Shamir's heart sank to the pit of her stomach when she saw the relief, the happiness, in Cyril's cat eyes.

"Almyra is not bad, Cyril. Fodlan isn't, either. But neither is truly good. You mustn't let Rhea sway your view on this, okay?" Shamir told him quietly. Cyril nodded after a while of contemplation. "Good. Get some rest, all right? I'll come see you tomorrow."

"Okay...bye, Shamir."

"Bye, Cyril."


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheh

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," Shamir whispered into Catherine's hair.

"Why not?" Catherine asked, letting her fingers run along the length of Shamir's thigh. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, I—" Shamir shivered, looking about anxiously in the empty house from where they lay on her bed. "I just...I don't know. I'm a little nervous...."

"Don't worry, I'll be extra—"

"Not about _you_," Shamir interjected, relaxing into the pillows when Catherine let her off her lap. "I mean...Cyril's still hurt and recovering at the monastery. I feel like we should be worrying about him."

"If I know anything about that kid, it's that he doesn't like people worrying about him," Catherine insisted, and Shamir folded her arms as her partner lay down next to her in the messy blankets. "Besides, now that he's gone, I can have you all to myself."

"Until he's back," Shamir put in.

Catherine's blue eyes rolled to look at the ceiling. "Until he's back." Shamir simpered and kissed Catherine's cheek, and Catherine smiled and kissed Shamir's chin. "Well, until that time does come, can I monkey around?"

Shamir grinned and wrapped her arms around Catherine's neck, teasing the hem of her undergarments with the tip of her little finger.

"You mean 'we?'"

Catherine retied her loose ponytail as she knelt over her partner, then left no room for her beloved goddess upon Shamir's bed.


	11. XI

Cyril was sniffling when he came home; Shamir was reading by the hearth, Catherine's head resting in her lap as she dozed.

"Hey, Cyril...what's wrong?"

Cyril shook his head, heading for the bedroom. Shamir took his wrist when he passed, and he stumbled backwards.

"Um, um..." He was hiding something. "Nothing, nothing's wrong...."

"Don't lie to me, Cyril," Shamir scolded. He winced at her touch, pulling away from her when she brushed his back. "...Are you hurt?"

Cyril shook his head again, vigorously, and Shamir placed Catherine on the carpet and took Cyril to the bedroom. He had only just healed from the grievous wound he had suffered in Almyra; had he gotten himself hurt again?

"Sha—Shamir! Let go!" he exclaimed, which only made Shamir grasp his arm harder. "It...it stings there!"

"Don't lie, Cyril, did you get hurt?" Shamir demanded, sitting Cyril down on his bedding. Cyril stared up at her with a mix of anxious terror and defiance in his blood orange eyes. At last, he nodded. "Show me."

Cyril looked around uneasily before undoing his girdle and pulling his usual tan tunic over his head. Shamir's eyes widened when they found the dark bruised streaks on Cyril's arms and back.

"What...what happened, Cyril?"

"Um...she, um..." Cyril raised his hand to bite his knuckle, then lowered it quickly, glancing at the wounds on his arm. "Miss Rhea didn't like what you said...about both Almyra and Fodlan being good...."

Shamir flinched. Did Cyril tell Rhea about what Shamir had said? And more, when she wasn't pleased, did Rhea _beat_ him?

"Cyril...Cyril, I'm so sorry...this is all my fault." Shamir got to her feet and found her medical box, then brought it to Cyril's bed and opened it up. Her heart ached with hatred and regret as she rubbed a cooling salve onto Cyril's wounds, then wrapped them up in bandages. "You musn't speak to Rhea about things like that, okay? It will put you in great danger. It already _has_."

Cyril nodded, and Shamir closed up her box as he started to sniffle. She stroked his hair, then hugged him when he cried, kissing his forehead and apologizing over and over. This was her fault, as were all things.

"Shamir, what's...Cyril?"

Shamir turned to look in the darkness of her unlit bedroom as Catherine appeared at the doorway. Her blue gaze came to rest on the medicine box, and she gasped and hurried in.

"Your Lady Rhea _beat_ Cyril," Shamir snarled, recoiling when Catherine touched her. "...Her Holiness hurt a child."

Catherine's eyes widened, and Cyril buried his face into Shamir's shoulder.

"...How could she do this?"

Shamir had thought Catherine would defend Rhea, even now. After all, the archbishop was her life, her heart and blood. She was relieved to see that even Thunder Catherine, Rhea's most faithful knight, was appalled at her actions.

Catherine touched Shamir's shoulder again, and Shamir did not pull away. Her blue eyes narrowed, and she got to her feet.

"I will speak with her."

Shamir gasped and grabbed the hem of Catherine's shirt. "No, Catherine! You'll get hurt too! What will she think, when her most trusted knight stands up to her?"

Catherine held her breath, then lowered her head.

"She will listen."

"No, she won't!" Shamir pulled Catherine down onto Cyril's bed and grabbed her hand. "To you, she is everything...but to her, you...you're just another loyal dog. We all are."

Catherine gasped, and Shamir bit her lip as she held Catherine's gaze. Cyril turned his head to look up at the swordswoman, and he winced when Catherine wrenched her hand out of Shamir's grasp.

"Tend to Cyril." Shamir felt tears stinging her eyes as Catherine left, shutting the door behind her and leaving them shrouded in darkness.


	12. XII

Catherine was in one piece when Shamir opened the door. Shamir cried out in relief and threw her arms around her partner, and Catherine hugged her in return.

"What happened? Did she...what did she think?" Shamir whispered into Catherine's cheek. Catherine nosed Shamir's face and rested her hand on Shamir's waist.

"Execution."

Shamir pulled away and her eyes snapped open, and Catherine only smiled at her. Shamir's hands went to her mouth, and she fell to her knees at Catherine's feet.

"No...no...."

Catherine knelt down beside her and stroked her hair. Why was she so calm? She was going to be put to death by the church she worshipped ever since she was a little girl.

"It's okay. I'm glad I got to see the true madness of Lady Rhea...I've been under the guise of her perfection my entire life."

Shamir let out a faint sob, her eyes squeezed shut and streaming tears, and Catherine dried them lightly.

"...Why didn't you listen...?"

Catherine's fingers paused on Shamir's cheek. Shamir took a trembling breath, shaking her head against Catherine's chest plate.

"I...I told you, 'don't stand up to Rhea,' and you did...and now look...."

Catherine tipped Shamir's chin upwards, and Shamir looked to her face, for solace, safety. Catherine's sky blue eyes were swimming with her own tears, and her smile was reassuring, comforting, as if it were Shamir's life that was going to end soon.

It felt so to Shamir, at least.

"It's okay. Okay? I'm going to be okay."

Shamir felt an unexpected surge of anger, and she grabbed Catherine's wrist and pulled her hand away from her face. Catherine lurched backwards, nearly falling down the steps leading from the threshold of Shamir's home.

"What about _me_, Catherine?" Shamir cried. "You think your actions only affect yourself, but—but—I can't...I can't lose another partner...!"

Catherine sat close by as Shamir shed silent tears; Cyril was asleep in the house. Shamir was glad he didn't have to see her like this. She took in a shaky gasp.

"And what...what about Cyril...? He needs you, too..." Catherine squeezed Shamir's hand. "...we need you. I...I need you."

Shamir felt Catherine's breath on her brow, her eyes tightly closed. Then, Catherine placed a soft kiss on Shamir's forehead.

"I'm sorry." She hugged Shamir again, and Shamir hid her face in the hollow of Catherine's shoulder. "We'll figure this out. We still have three days."

Shamir hiccuped between heavy sobs. She hated Catherine. She hated her, she was sure of it.

She was just so stubborn.


	13. XIII

Three days felt like eternities, then like seconds when they were over.

Shamir woke in a warm, soft nest of Catherine's blankets. Her head was resting half on a pillow, half on Catherine's collarbone. Her arms were curled against her chest, and Catherine's were wrapped around her waist.

Shamir slipped out of Catherine's gentle grasp and knelt by her face in the sheets, stroking her cheek and kissing the bridge of her nose. Catherine had told her last night not to try anything, but it was about time she didn't listen to everything her partner said.

"You'll thank me later," Shamir murmured into Catherine's ear. "Please look after Cyril for me. And run as far away as you can with him." Shamir hesitated, then closed her eyes. "...I love you...I promise."

Shamir tucked Catherine up to her chin in the blankets and looked at her face one last time. The soft sunlight filtering through the lavender curtains lit her smooth skin aglow. She smelled of rose petals from last night's tea, and of sweat from that night's passionate escapade.

Shamir wrapped herself in her cloak and traveled to the stream, and there she bathed and slipped into her usual monastery clothing. It was comfortable, and she was glad she could die in such a nice outfit.

Cyril would not know what happened until it was over, and Shamir preferred it this way. He was fast asleep at home, his bruises still healing on his arms and back.

Shamir would die for her own mistake. And she was glad; she could repay Cyril for her misguidance at last.

She ignored the flutters of terror in her heart as she walked, and it was only until the heels of her boots clacked on the stairs leading to Rhea's audience chamber that they started to overpower her.

The archbishop was waiting. She smiled when Shamir stopped before her, kneeling and lowering her head.

"Where is Catherine?"

"...Dead," Shamir whispered. "I killed her. So you must kill me."

Rhea blinked slowly, then smiled again. "There is no need. All is forgiven."

Shamir flinched. "What?"

"Go on, now. Be elsewhere." Rhea waved her hand and looked to the stained glass behind her.

Shamir's heart was racing. "...You aren't going to punish me?"

"No. You have already lost everything," Rhea responded sweetly. "Your family, your partners—this life of yours may just be more torturous than death."

Shamir narrowed her eyes.

"...Actually..." Rhea turned back to face Shamir, then looked behind her. "Perhaps you ought to stay."

Shamir heard a familiar voice, and her eyes widened when she saw Catherine, struggling and snapping like a chained dog in between two soldiers.

"You will be executed for your pitiful lies—by the poor woman you tried to protect."

Shamir gasped, and she cried as Rhea forced her onto her knees, "Catherine!"

Catherine flinched and tried to fight, but the soldiers barked at her and shoved her forward. She was already dressed in her armor, as if she had been on her way to the monastery already. As if she had been chasing Shamir.

"I'm glad you could join us today, Catherine." Catherine winced at Rhea's voice. The flame of loyalty that resided in her was still flickering, still alive.

"Catherine, get out of here," Shamir cried. Catherine grunted when the soldiers forced her through the rows of pews, her blue eyes glistening under the light of the stained glass.

"I told you not to do anything like this," Catherine whispered. "And now look...where is Cyril? Is he here?"

"No, he's at my home, he's still—" Icy horror filled Shamir in lieu of breath, and Rhea smiled as she gripped Shamir's wrists, stilling her as she struggled and cried.

"Go on, then," the archbishop uttered to one of the soldiers. His helm dipped as he nodded, and he left Catherine in the hands of his two companions. Shamir had put Cyril in grave danger, again.

"Hey! Get back here!" Catherine shouted at the soldier when he passed, and she swiveled around when Rhea stepped over Shamir's slumped form, tenderly touching her cheek.

"Now, Catherine..." The hurt inside Shamir boiled as Catherine's terrified eyes relaxed when they met Rhea's. The archbishop, and all those who knew Catherine, were well aware of her past love for Rhea, and that she once would do anything for just a single moment with her. "Where do your loyalties lay?"

Catherine narrowed her eyes and turned her face away from Rhea's gentle hand. "No longer with you, milady." She still referred to the archbishop with utmost respect.

"I saved your life countless times," Rhea reminded the swordswoman. "You owe me your services; you told me so yourself."

Catherine's gaze flitted to Shamir, who pleaded with her eyes. _Go. Run._

Rhea turned to smile at the kneeling knight when Catherine lowered her head in surrender. Shamir's heart started racing.

"Kill Shamir Nevrand."

Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, and Shamir saw pained tears streak down her face. The soldiers let go of her at Rhea's command.

"Catherine..." Shamir whispered. Catherine's trembling hand traveled to Thunderbrand's pommel. "...Catherine, please...don't listen to her. She's using you!"

"Will you listen to her, an outsider, a liar...or me? The truth, the light?" Rhea's smile never faltered. It was a mask, a facade, hiding madness. Intricately carved, unbreakable.

Catherine's blue eyes opened, and they met Shamir's teary, dark violet gaze. Shamir turned to look at Rhea, who was only watching Catherine.

"Please, if I must die, then spare Cyril! It was I who filled him with that Almyran...nonsense. It was I who egged him on to say it," Shamir pleaded. There was a new edge to Rhea's smile, and she slipped her spindly fingers, like the legs of a pale spider, over Catherine's shoulder.

"Go on then, sweet Catherine. Decorate the floor with her innards, and there we will dance together. Just as you always wanted."

"You'll thank me, I promise," breathed Catherine. Had she been awake when Shamir had gone?

"Catherine—"

Free from its scabbard, Thunderbrand flashed red in the painted sunlight of the church windows. Shamir's last sight was a glowing arc of blood, and the tears falling from Catherine's eyes, and Rhea's smile.

Shamir fell to the floor, as did Thunderbrand, as did Catherine. Rhea stroked Catherine's hair.

"All is forgiven."


	14. XIV

Cyril screamed.

"Shh. It's okay, Cyril, she's okay. I'll explain everything on the way, all right? Pack your things, we need to leave _now_."

"Shamir...ma...Mama...."

Catherine's lips were warm against Shamir's forehead. Shamir pried her eyes open; it was dark, except for the flickering light of a candle. There was a dull, throbbing pain in the hollow of her shoulder.

"...Nnh...."

Catherine gasped. "Shamir...!" She wrapped her arms tightly around Shamir, sniffling and letting out a shaky sigh. "Thank the goddess...I thought I messed it up...."

Shamir found solace in her partner's slowing heartbeat. She was alive, and so was Catherine.

"Catherine...." Shamir's hand twitched as she tried to find her partner's, and Catherine laced her fingers together with Shamir's.

"I'm here, Shamir. I'm here." Catherine chuckled a little as she stroked Shamir's hair. "Hey, that rhymes."

"Where...?"

"We're in the forest a couple miles east of the monastery. Cyril and I built a tent."

Shamir gasped. "Cy...Cyril...."

"He's asleep. Don't worry. He was so scared when I brought you home."

Catherine let Shamir rest in a soft makeshift bed. "What happened...?"

"Oh. Well..." The cheer from Catherine's voice vanished. "...Lady Rhea told me to execute you. I made it look like I did, so she thinks I left to bury you."

"How?"

"I hooked Thunderbrand at the last second so I knocked you out by hitting your neck with the flat of my blade, and I cut into your shoulder so you bled." Catherine stooped her head and shyly kissed the bandages over Shamir's shoulder. "Sorry about that."

Shamir looked up at her in the dim, flickering light, and she smiled. Catherine's sky blue eyes were filled with devotion. To her! Not to the church, or to Rhea. To Shamir.

"Than you, Catherine..." she whispered, touching Catherine's chin, and her partner bent her head again so Shamir could kiss her. "Thank you for everything."

"I love you. Only you."

Shamir smiled, the side of her face chilled when a joyful tear slipped onto her pillow.

"I love you, too...I promise."

Catherine closed her eyes, and she kissed Shamir again, gently, their noses brushing against each other in the dark as the candle went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chunks this time :v


	15. XV

Cyril was smiling brightly as he tugged on Shamir's sleeve.

"Come on, Shamir! It's important!"

"What could possibly be more important than training?" Shamir demanded, stumbling after the young boy as she dropped her bow in the dust. It had taken weeks just to prepare these training grounds in the forest with Cyril and Catherine, and now she couldn't even _use_ them?

"You'll see, you'll see!"

The sun was setting now as Cyril pulled Shamir into the fields. Maybe it was dinner; that was important. Shamir blinked when she spotted Catherine standing in the center of the wildflower field, smiling just as brightly as Cyril.

"Um...what's this?" Shamir asked as Cyril stopped her a couple feet away from Catherine. She had her hands clasped behind her straightened back, and her beautiful blue eyes shone like jewels in the evening light.

"Shamir...can I ask you a few things?"

Shamir nodded as Cyril scurried away and hid behind Catherine. "I don't see why not."

"You know that, if I had to choose between you or me, I'd choose you, right?"

"Of course."

"If you had to choose between you or me, who would you choose?"

"You."

"You know that, if the soldiers of the monastery came looking for you, I'd fight them tooth and nail until you're safe, right?"

"...Yes."

"Would you do the same?"

Shamir nodded. "Yes."

Catherine took a step forward, then another until she stood just a few inches away from Shamir. She was blushing faintly, and she looked Shamir up and down for a moment.

"If you had to choose between yourself—" Catherine gestured to Shamir, then to herself and Cyril "—or us...who would you choose?"

"You," Shamir smiled, truthfully. Cyril smiled back at her.

Catherine returned her hand behind her back, and Cyril rummaged around in his pocket and stuffed something into her palm. Catherine fell to one knee and grasped Shamir's hand, presenting a beautiful sapphire ring in her other.

"Last question."

Shamir's heart stopped. As did time itself; the reddish gold of the setting sun, Cyril's happy blood orange eyes, Catherine's rosy cheeks under the dying light, it was all eternal, all perpetual.

"Milady Shamir...will you marry me?"

Shamir's knees felt like jelly, and she fell onto them in the nodding flowers. Her free hand went to her mouth, and her vision started to blur, and she started to cry.

"No, Shamir," Catherine laughed, "you're supposed to keep standing, _I'm_ the one who kneels!"

"I will," Shamir wailed, emotion making her heart swell and her breaths short. "I will marry you...!"

"YES!" Catherine whooped and wrapped her arms around Shamir, leaning back and falling into the flowers, and Shamir cried and cried, and she hugged Cyril when he leapt onto them.

"Let's be a happy family," Catherine whispered, kissing Shamir and slipping her ring onto her partner's finger. "No more crying, okay?"

"Family...?" Shamir breathed. She had always believed that those were irreplaceable. She thought family was fixed, singular, unchangeable.

Evidently, with Cyril clinging to her belt and Catherine holding her waist, murmuring sweet promises, she was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!!


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